


jasmine and juniper

by Ejunkiet



Series: soft, unspoken sounds [4]
Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: (and more explicit intimacy), F/M, Floriography, Romance, bed sharing, cunnilingus and other acts, love and loving, love letters and flowers and unspoken intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:01:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28299375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ejunkiet/pseuds/Ejunkiet
Summary: For all her skills as a linguist, Eva has yet to master the language of flowers.--“You didn’t walk through the halls of the facility like this.”Her hand draws down her neck, finding the chain that hangs there, polished resin embedding the petals of honeysuckle, white clover and edelweiss, sprinkled with delicate violet of blue heliotrope.“I wanted you to see me wearing this, and only this.”
Relationships: Female Detective/Nathaniel "Nate" Sewell
Series: soft, unspoken sounds [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1829347
Comments: 13
Kudos: 56





	jasmine and juniper

**Author's Note:**

  * For [qbrujas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/qbrujas/gifts).



> It is officially Christmas where you are, so!! Merry Christmas to a talented, wonderful friend!!
> 
> I think I've mentioned (once or twice) how much I love Eva and Nate's relationship, and so in the true spirit of internet festive gifting, I have written you a soft ~~smutty~~ thing to warm up your winter evening. <33 
> 
> Hope you have a lovely holiday!!

It starts with flowers.

He has taken to leaving them for her as gifts - dried and carefully pressed; precisely arranged and fixed in resin. He encloses them in letters, thick parchment and heavy cream envelopes, the pages sliding like soft velvet beneath her fingertips. 

The flowers enclosed inside are beautiful. They vary in shape and size, from about the width of her palm to barely bigger than her pinkie; perfect snapshots of life, frozen at the height of their beauty, as immortal as he is.

He seals the letters with crimson wax, as Nathaniel is nothing if not a traditionalist. She can smell a hint of the candle smoke even now, a juxtaposition to the gentle fragrance of the expensive perfume that accompanies it. 

The notes themselves are brief, sometimes simply her name, or the endearment he uses when they're alone; sometimes brief statements, moments and thoughts that he wished to share with her.

It’s become a game between them - she finds them tucked away amongst her things, slipped between files at the office, the pocket of her coat when she leaves the Warehouse. He doesn’t mention it, not at first, but it’s not long before she recognises the subtle signs that he has gifted her another one - the way he lingers at the door, fingers curled around the frame; the gentle curve of his mouth, the sudden softness in his eyes.

She knows that they have meanings, can recognise the more obvious ones herself, or the flowers at least. The yellow pansies, slipped into her latest Agency briefing: _Thinking of you._ Honeysuckle, _Devoted Affection._ A simple daisy, paired with orange blossoms, _Innocence,_ _Love_. 

Others are more challenging (and she wonders if he’s keeping a greenhouse somewhere, if one day she’d stumble across it, a secret garden on the Warehouse grounds), and that makes her task more difficult, but not impossible.

There are a few though, that have managed to elude her understanding, no matter her talents as a linguist and a researcher. Delicate combinations of petals and herbs, the nuance of which has been lost to time.

When she can, she spares a moment to search for clues in his library, working her way through the vast collection of books that span decades, sometimes centuries. 

He has remarkably few books on horticulture, and she questions her garden theory, considering Agency connections to contacts in the florist industry as the next likely alternative, and she wonders if some of the myths she’d grown up with as a child with an attunement to nature might have found a productive use for their talents. She finds more of his gifts in the few books he has on the subject, hidden away within the labyrinth maze of the stacks and the incomprehensible mess of his cataloging system.

This continues until he has to leave for the Middle East, after he was personally requested for a mission by the agency for his skillset as a talented linguist and negotiator. He leaves her with one final gift, carefully wrapped and placed within her rooms at the facility, and a request - do not open before his departure.

She heeds his request, and his eyes are dark as he kisses her goodbye, glittering with promise.

Back in her rooms, she opens the gift.

\--

Later, she finds herself back in the library, sweaty from her latest training session with Morgan, chasing the memory of him amongst the faded leather and parchment. 

It’s among these shelves that she finds the Book, tucked into a far corner, cataloged amongst _‘A Detailed History of Hungarian Witchcraft’_ , and a series of tomes detailing the _‘Economic Policies & International Relations of Persia’ _between the fifteenth and eighteenth centuries.

She brushes her fingers against the fragile spine, taking in the age of the leather, the classic binding, the edges frayed from the paper knife used to open it the first time. Yet, despite its age, the spine of the book itself is remarkably clean and clear from dust, unlike its neighbours.

The curliqued gold script is faded on the spine, and she gently removes the book from the shelf, turning it over carefully so she can read the title on the cover.

_Floriography - a companion’s guide._

\--

The mission in Amman takes nearly a month to complete, which is longer than he had anticipated when he had accepted the assignment. 

He receives messages from home (as he thinks of it now): Adam, keeping him up to date with the latest news in the investigation into the rogue supernaturals; Morgan, with the progression of the detective’s training; and from Eva herself, sweet missives that stir the warm flutterings in his heart.

(He does his best to answer them using the limited capabilities of the device the Agency had given him. Keenly, he misses the simplicity of the past, and the simple practise of letter writing: the process of writing itself, days spent assembling cluttered thought into elegant, considered prose or clever turns of phrase.)

He’s tired after the debrief at the main agency facility, losing focus as they make their way back from the city, phone loosely held within his grasp. Adam knows to expect him, and he hopes - he hopes that she will be there, too.

There’s a faint scent in the air when he returns to his rooms, a gentle fragrance that he has come to associate with her - sweet, citrus notes brightened with mint and lemongrass, and beneath it all, the underlying tones that he knows comes from her - deep and rich and intoxicating. 

He lingers at the door, taking in a slow breath, the taste and shape of her, after long weeks of absence.

Eva is waiting for him inside, the slow, steady pulse of her heartbeat recognisable even through the thick, insulated walls of the facility. It doesn’t take long before his desire to see her overpowers the moment, and with another breath, his hand finds the door handle and he pushes forward into the room.

Glancing over the familiar details that have remained unchanged over his absence, his eyes find her where she leans delicately against the bedpost, a subtle smile curving her lips.

She's wearing a silk robe that cinches at her waist, the ties loose, revealing that she is wearing little beneath. Her eyes are dark when they meet his, glittering in the light that streams in from the hall, and he closes the door against it, as much to preserve her modesty as to have this view only for himself.

Clasped loosely between her hands is her response to his gifts: a sprig of cut flowers, colours muted in the gentle lighting of the room, but recognisable nonetheless. 

A smattering of pink camellia and red carnations, tied with a tendrils of white ivy. _Longing, admiration, affection._

Behind her, carefully balanced on an elegant walnut side table (one of his favourite pieces), is the Book.

Ah.

He’d wondered how long it would take her to find it.

She moves slowly towards him, with a grace that belies her humanity, and his eyes follow the long lines of her, the warm expanse of her skin that glows golden in the warm light from the lamps she’s lit around the room. The muted light stains the dark wood with an amber glow, deepening the quality of the shadows. Almost like a dream.

Except that she's here. After a month of waiting, wanting, _yearning,_ she is here.

He’s all too aware of the contrasts between them, of the layers that separate them, and he swallows, feeling the tightness of his collar, the warmth of his satin-lined waistcoat. Outside, the autumn winds have brought with them the first chill of winter, the bite in the air harsh against his lungs - in here, all he can breathe, taste, is _her_.

She stops in front of him, placing her gift in the waiting vase on the side table, before reaching up to brush aside the collar of her robe, her movements slow and purposeful, and his breath catches.

On a silver chain is a familiar pendant, resting beneath the hollow of her throat: his parting gift, a final confession.

(The note that had accompanied it had simply read _meri jaan,_ and these are words he’s whispered, once or twice, into the curve of her neck, the gentle fall of her hair against her shoulders, the welcome cradle of her thighs.)

She lets the collar fall back into place, her hands making their way onto his chest, fingers splayed across his heart, and he can feel the heat of her touch through the layers. Her eyes are molten silver in the lamplight, brilliant and alive, and it’s the acknowledgement, as much as anything that sends his heart tumbling into a rapid pace inside his chest.

She’s a beautiful, blazing thing and he finds himself lost within her, hopelessly, endlessly.

Slowly, she leans into him, rising up on the balls of her feet as he leans down to meet her, drawn inescapably into the well of her gravity, an inexorable conclusion, and when they come together, it's cosmic. Divinity in motion. 

Long moments pass before she draws back, hovering on her toes, dark eyes bright beneath her lowered lashes, a glittering constellation. “I missed you.”

“And I you.” The words are whispered on a sigh, and it's then that he can bear their separation no longer and he leans down to recapture her mouth, surrendering himself to the building swell between them, feeling the crest of it swallow him whole.

Her hands slide across the planes of his chest, seeking the heat of him beneath the layers, a desire he shares as he shrugs off his jacket and waistcoat, chasing her fingers along the buttons of his shirt, blind and fumbling, their growing smiles punctuating the kiss until they break apart with a soft laugh.

“Are you needed elsewhere tonight?” Her hands work quickly, stripping him of his under shirt, fingers tangling in his hair - longer now - brushing his nape, her clever fingers working the tie loose and pulling it free.

“Nothing that can’t wait until morning.”

She breathes out a sigh as his hands find her waist, curling like brands against her skin, her lips curling into a pleased smile. “Good. I was hoping I could have you all to myself.”

 _As had he._ He trails his hand along her body, soft as a whisper, enjoying the silken softness of the robe as he teases at the opening, catching brief glimpses of the soft warmth that lay beneath. Fingers curling around her nape, he brings her in for another kiss; soft, welcoming, grateful.

After a few more moments, she breaks away from the kiss, her hands moving to his shoulders, pushing him back gently. He’s guided through the room, until the back of his knees collide with the bed, and there’s a light in her eyes, brilliant and fervent, that sends a pleasant shiver through him, sparking just below his spine. 

Her mouth is curled like a promise as she presses against him again, until he falls back onto the bed, his breath catching in his throat as she follows and climbs astride him, warm thighs bracketing his hips.

His hands find her waist as she presses in closer, movements slow and purposeful as she sinks down against him, and he has to bite his tongue to strangle a moan.

_“Eva.”_

Her hands are warm against him as they skim down his chest, lingering on his abdomen and dipping beneath the waistband - and he draws her into another kiss, chasing her mouth as his fingers tangle in the dark locks of her hair, bringing her down against him.

She meets him with a hungry fervor, shifting until she can settle herself more comfortably against him, the softness of her curving into his harsher edges, until he no longer knows where she ends and he begins. 

She gasps into his mouth as his wandering hands slip beneath the hem of her robe, smoothing along the warm expanse of her thigh, inching higher until he brushes against her center - and finds her heat, slick and ready for him.

He breaks away from the kiss with a punctured groan, eyes shuttering for a moment as his head falls back to rest against the pillows, followed by the soft curls of her laughter.

Beneath the silk, she is completely bare, and his hand flexes on her thigh as he thinks through the implications of that.

She leans in over him, dipping low, until they’re surrounded by the dark halo of her hair, her cheeks flushed, lips kiss swollen, and he can’t help the way he reaches up to her, drags his thumb across the shine of her mouth.

“You didn’t walk through the halls of the facility like this.”

Her eyes glitter with amusement at the unspoken query in the words. “And what if I had?”

His brow rises and he can feel the heat on his cheeks, even as he purses his lips in doubt, and she laughs again, the sound of it soft and lovely in the hushed quiet of his rooms. “I'm not _that_ reckless. I changed here.”

Her hand draws down her neck, finding the chain that hangs there, polished resin embedding the petals of honeysuckle, white clover and edelweiss, sprinkled with delicate violet of blue heliotrope. 

“I wanted you to see me wearing this, and only this.”

With those words, she leans back, fingers tugging at the knot of her robe until it loosens and she can shrug it off in a simple movement, revealing herself completely to his gaze.

His breath catches in his throat as his eyes flicker over her, taking in every inch of warm golden skin, the shadows that play over her soft curves. Fingers flexing, he takes it all in greedily, his hands eager to follow the same paths, chase the flush that darkens her skin and curls down the swell of her chest - but he holds back, savouring the moment.

Beautiful. Lovely. _His_.

Her chest rises and falls with her breaths, and she is as affected as he is, the deep chestnut of her irises swallowed by the weight of her pupils, dark as pitch. "You can touch me."

Her words are soft and devastating, punching the air from his chest - and he can't deny her, not in this (not ever).

Rising, he falls into her, or she falls into him, palms seeking skin, her heat against him a searing, blazing thing that stirs the slumbering fire in his gut, the everburning flame he holds for her - searching hands mapping out the softness of her, losing himself within her. 

His mouth maps a path across her cheek to her jaw, skimming against her throat, the flutter of her pulse against his lips, before he settles at the base of it, claiming the hollow with lips and teeth until she gasps, her body rolling against him as she clutches him closer.

She’s hot against him, even through the thick material of his jeans, and he releases a stangled groan, followed by a stream of unintelligible curses at the material - and she takes pity on him, drawing back, nimble fingers finding the button of his jeans, yanking down the zipper before she tugs them down his hips.

“If you hate them so much, why do you wear them?” Her voice is light, her smile teasing as she settles back down against him, soft and warm, and his hands find her face again, bringing her in for another open-mouthed kiss, messy and loving.

Moving against him, she reaches down to where he’s hot and aching, straining against his underwear, her touch featherlight as she traces the length of him and he breaks away from with a low moan, her name on his lips a little more than a gasp, edging into a plea, _“Eva.”_

A slow smile curls her lips as she moves her hand against him, making another pass, firmer but still light enough to _tease._ Her voice is barely more than a whisper when she replies, “Tell me what you want, Nate.”

The answer to that is simple: _“You.”_

He takes the initiative then, his hands finding her waist, her thighs, tracing along the silken length of them as he secures them around his hips, before he’s moving, pushing forward in one swift move until she falls backwards onto the bed, laughing beneath him.

Her cheeks are flushed and bright as she tilts her head to see him, lazy and languid against the sheets, and he wastes no time pressing his advantage, chasing the sweet taste of her flush across her shoulders down to her chest, marking her skin in a series of searing, biting kisses as his hands trace over her soft curves. 

“Nate-” Her voice is a soft gasp as he follows the curve of her breast, her hands reaching for him - and he follows her willingly, finding her mouth again in a mess of tongue and teeth.

He swallows the small sound she makes as he slips his thigh back between her legs, pressing in close against where she is warm and wanting as his hands settle against the generous curve of her hips, shifting her slightly, until they come into alignment. The sweet sounds that fall from her lips as she moves against him, her hands tangling in his hair as she seeks her pleasure, nearly makes him come undone, and he could lose himself in this, in this moment, right here and now.

But... he has other plans for this evening. As does she, as she breaks away from his mouth with a muted gasp, tugging at his hair as she calls his name again, _“Nate.”_

Shifting away, he continues to make his way down her body, turning his attention to the curve of her breast, peppering the skin there with soft kisses as he maps the curve, taking her into his mouth as he uses his hand on the other, rolling her nipple in a practised move between his thumb and forefinger as she shivers beneath him. 

He can’t get enough of the taste of her on his tongue, in the back of his throat, his olfactory senses almost overwhelmed with the scent of her as he maps a path down her stomach, pressing a sharp kiss against her hip bone, enjoying how she gasps and jerks beneath him, her fingers in his hair turning wicked as she pulls him closer to where she wants him - and he’s all too happy to follow her lead.

He doesn’t give her a chance to catch her breath before he sinks between her legs, laving her with the broadside of his tongue, and she lets out a strangled cry, somewhere between a moan and his name _._ His hand finds her hip, securing her to the bed as he pulls back enough to look up at her, thumb running along her center as she twists under his hands, chest heaving under the weight of her breaths.

She’s beautiful like this - cheeks flushed, the scent of her almost overpowering, and as he dips down to take her in his mouth, she _keens._

“Nate-” she tries again a little while later, her fingers moving restlessly in his hair, helplessly tangled in the strands, before she tugs on them _sharply_ to get him to look at her. Her dark eyes glazed with pleasure and dark as pitch as his gaze travels along her body, her body shifting beneath his hands, “Nate, I’m - I need you.”

He smiles against her skin, pressing a soft kiss to her inner thigh as he gentles his pace, just for a moment. “I know, my love.”

She lets out a soft noise, and her cheeks are flushed, frustrated, _wanting._ “ _Closer._ I want - _you.”_

His breath hitches as he catches the meaning behind her words, understanding as he draws back to meet her gaze. There’s a depth there that claims him, entirely and whole, and he is falling - a satellite lost to her gravity, drawn inexorably towards his own destruction, the shattered, fractured pieces of him sparking, catching alight, leaving nothing but brilliant fire and wreckage in his wake.

“You have me, _prāṇa-priye_ .” _You will always have me._

He finds himself moving before he can even finish the thought, divesting himself of his jeans and underwear before climbing back up her body to reclaim her mouth, falling between her legs like he belongs there, as she welcomes him as if he does, and they come together in that moment, slow and achingly familiar and yet new all the same.

The pendant is warm between them, the heat from her skin pouring into his, and he whispers secrets into her hair, using old forgotten languages he doesn’t expect her to understand - except sometimes she does.

And here, now, she understands him perfectly.

_Eternal._

Their pace changes, kisses turning sloppy, hands seeking the other, interlaced fingers and gasping breaths, a dance that’s all the more beautiful for its simplicity, and this is not the first time they’ve come together like this, but something about this moment feels - more. 

There’s an understanding here, an acknowledgement of what they’ve left unspoken between them - and if his gift was a confession, then hers is her acceptance, of him, of _them_ , and their joint futures.

Her hands curl arounds his shoulders, his neck, fingers winding themselves in the tangled dark strands of his hair as she clings to him, pulling him in closer, and he goes willingly, feeling her tremble beneath him and finally break, the air leaving her lungs in a soft rush that stains his neck, marking him with her sigh - and he follows, a gentle surrender, losing himself to this moment, to _her_.

After, she’s soft in his arms and even softer against his mouth, tender smiles and whispered sighs, and he could spend decades memorising the shape of her smile, the delicate flush that stains her cheeks, passing down the column of her neck.

“I’m glad that you’re back,” she whispers into his chest, coupled with another confession. “I missed you.”

“And I you.” Brushing his lips against the dark halo of her hair, he smiles at the soft sound of her sigh. She’s a comfortable weight in his arms as he draws her closer, nestling her head beneath his chin. “Sleep, _joonam._ ”

She hums at that, tilting her head to press a final kiss to his throat, before she does just that.

It’s not long after that he joins her.

\--

The following morning, Eva wakes to pale sunlight streaming in through the windows, only partially shrouded by the sheer, gauzy fabric that covers the windows. It’s early, by her reckoning - the sun hovering a scarce inch above the horizon, and she can hear the first stirrings of nature beyond the glass, the cheerful, melodic call of birdsong as the forest comes alive around them, welcoming the day.

Nate’s rooms are on the east side of the compound, facing the sunrise, and it’s by choice, she comes to realise, as she turns her face away from the growing brightness - and of _course_ it would be. 

He had an adoration for life in all its forms, and would gladly seek the reminder of it, even if it came at the cost of sleep - which, if she was being fair, he didn’t need much of, in the first place.

(Still - she will have to place an order for blackout blinds, in the event that she chooses to stay the night again in _his_ rooms rather than her own.)

The man himself lies beneath her, breaths soft and even, his features peaceful in the dim light, and she pauses a moment to look at him, taking him in. She can still catch the faint traces of the perfumed air that had followed him into the room - jasmine, with a hint of citrus - the dark lengths of his hair mussed about his face

He’s sleeping, deeply, and she can’t help but wonder at the sight of him - the gentle curve of his brow, the warm creases that speak of his smiles, the kindness there. The swell of emotion behind her breast, swallowing her chest - how this feels _more_ with him, in a way it never had before.

He’s impossibly beautiful, _ephemeral_ , and she thinks - she thinks that one day she might wake from this impossible, beautiful dream and find herself alone, again.

But then he stirs beneath her, dark lashes fluttering before rich chestnut meets her own (and he wasn’t sleeping, of course he wasn’t), and his lips curve into a generous smile, and she banishes those thoughts for what they are, shallow fears, and nothing less.

Smiling, she lets herself be drawn back down into the circle of his arms, tasting the shape of his smile for herself - and he tastes like sunshine and hope, a new beginning.


End file.
